Yours And Ours
by StillWaters1
Summary: Jimmy Palmer had no intention of leaving Dr. Mallard alone in the hospital….until he met Napoleon Solo. NCIS/Man from UNCLE crossover.


**Title:** Yours And Ours

**Author:** Still Waters

**Fandom:** NCIS/The Man From UNCLE

**Disclaimer:** I do not own either of these shows. Just playing, with love and respect to those who brought these characters to life.

**Summary: **Jimmy Palmer had no intention of leaving Dr. Mallard alone in the hospital….until he met Napoleon Solo. NCIS/Man from UNCLE crossover.

**Written:** 1/7 – 1/10, 1/14/14.

**Notes:** Apparently, every three years or so, I get the urge to write a crossover between two fandoms I've never written before. Such is the case with this piece – the idea came out of nowhere and I just couldn't shake it. Set during the tenth season NCIS episode "Extreme Prejudice," this story has Jimmy observing a meeting between a present-day Napoleon and Illya while also giving him the piece of mind needed to follow Ducky's wishes to return to Washington in the M.E.'s place. I truly hope I did the characters justice. Please excuse any missed errors, as I am recovering from eye surgery. Thank you for reading.

* * *

There was a man sitting at Dr. Mallard's bedside.

Jimmy paused just outside the doorway, heart racing as Agent Gibbs' words came back to him; an order wrapped in deep trust. "Take care of him, Palmer." _Keep him safe while I can't._

The stranger leaned forward, closer to Dr. Mallard's face. Jimmy's hand closed around his phone, eyes searching for one of the nurses – _who is this man, why is he here_ – as he took in a breath, ready to shout – _don't you dare take him away from me, I almost lost him, I can't do this without him_…

Dr. Mallard opened his eyes. Looking up into the stranger's face, he immediately let them close again, exhaustion-tightened features smoothing into relaxed familiarity. "Napoleon," he breathed.

And that's when Jimmy really _looked_ at the man – looked past a stranger's sudden presence, past the impeccable suit, the old-fashioned walking stick right out of an old Sherlock Holmes tale…. and saw the disheveled hair of a man ejected from life's normalcy by one sudden, terrifying phone call.

Jimmy shivered as a water droplet slid down the back of his neck. He knew that hair – had seen it five minutes ago in a mirror down the hall. Knew that the shaking hands that created it weren't any steadier than the ones trying to fix the follicular chaos with nothing but tap water and coarse paper towels in empty bathrooms echoing with racing thoughts.

He loosened his grip on the phone.

The man sighed. "A heart attack, tovarisch? If you didn't want to have dinner this week, you could have called."

Dr. Mallard's lips twitched into a shadow of a smirk; one that not only belonged to a younger man, but almost a completely different one altogether. "The perils of too many years spent with you and your flair for the dramatic, I suppose."

Napoleon grinned; a man relieved at an old, familiar dance. "Are you implying…."

"I imply nothing. Fact is fact."

The words were crisp and clipped, the familiar accent fading as another stepped into the forefront - one Jimmy had never heard before. But if Dr. Mallard's endless stories proved anything, it was that he was a man of the world; linguistic shifts certainly weren't unexpected.

Napoleon gave Dr. Mallard a knowing look, up and down, some private irony passing between them. "Hmm, is it?"

Dr. Mallard chuckled ruefully, a bright spot of laughter that quickly devolved into a grimace and struggle for breath, hand going to his chest as a system still fighting to re-regulate oxygen supply and demand reasserted itself. Jimmy stepped forward, one foot over the threshold, only to stop as Napoleon's hand covered Dr. Mallard's, rising and falling with the shallow, irregular breaths.

"Illya?" The gray-streaked head bowed closer, attention somehow both solely on Dr. Mallard and sweeping the room – _monitor data, exits, call system_ – at the same time.

Jimmy barely registered the unfamiliar name – _nickname?_ – Napoleon had used, ducking back around the corner with staggering new insight. He'd caught the briefest glimpse of Napoleon's eyes in that moment, and rather than a stranger, Jimmy saw the terror of loss from his own eyes in the ambulance windows; saw the frustration of being unable to prevent and protect that he had heard in Gibbs' voice on the phone. And, through it all, saw a staggering record of shared history, of pure love and devotion - one that went way beyond those of their current NCIS family.

The two men's hands fit with years of familiarity, their foreheads nearly touching as if magnetized, bodies and breathing fitting together like puzzle pieces worn and warped with use, yet always coming together as if they'd never once been taken apart. Napoleon wasn't a stranger. He wasn't even a _friend_.

Napoleon was _family_.

Family that was suddenly barking something in a foreign language; something that sounded over-pronounced and vaguely Eastern European, eyes locked on Dr. Mallard's clenched face.

Dr. Mallard's eyes found Napoleon's immediately and without thought before narrowing around several stuttered breaths. "Your….accent…..is still… appalling." He paused, pulling in one measured breath, followed by another. "How do you…." Another pause, and Jimmy realized he was looking at Napoleon, matching his breathing to his friend. "…manage it?"

"American ignorance?" Napoleon suggested with a raised brow.

"More like willful mangling," Dr. Mallard muttered, shifting his hand to carefully massage his chest.

Napoleon shot him what appeared to be a 'well it worked, didn't it?' look as Dr. Mallard managed a full sentence again.

Dr. Mallard sighed around silently broadcast gratitude. "You have an entire linguistics department with which to practice."

"My linguistics department isn't you," Napoleon said simply.

Dr. Mallard's eyes softened – familiar and yet still distinctly different within other subtle shifts. "I'm all right, Napoleon."

Napoleon let out a shaky breath, running equally unsteady fingers through his hair. "Too close, partner."

The voice had dipped almost impossibly low – whether to mask the obvious emotional cracks or naturally defaulting to something like a private radio frequency between the two of them, Jimmy wasn't sure.

"Yes," Dr. Mallard agreed quietly, the single syllable heavy with memory as he shook his head. "Who would have thought we'd live this long?"

Jimmy felt as if he was watching a silent foreign film; one where the subtitles couldn't translate the true meaning and where the cultural differences made reading the nonverbal iffy at best. He was getting bits and pieces, extrapolating others, but knew at the same time that he was missing so much more.

As a result, he couldn't see how Napoleon's face reflected a series of cities, countries, and foreign names, of alleyways and prison cells and desperate searches; a reel of decades in a split-second glance. "From birds to blocked arteries?" Napoleon mused.

"Says the man who had another TIA last month," Dr. Mallard grumbled. "Don't think I hadn't heard," he stabbed a pulse oximeter clad finger at Napoleon. "If you have a full blown stroke….."

"You'll kill me?" Napoleon's lopsided smile was equal parts playful teasing and foreboding resignation.

"Don't be cute," Dr. Mallard's familiar tones completely disappeared behind that 'other' voice.

Napoleon glanced at the monitor, then back to Dr. Mallard. "Don't _you_ forget our deal," he challenged back, eyes darkening.

Jimmy couldn't understand what passed between them, but the air hung heavy with its significance.

_You don't get to die before me. Together or not at all._

"Never," Dr. Mallard affirmed.

With a tired, proud smile, Napoleon moved his hand from Dr. Mallard's chest and gently patted his cheek; a gesture so much like Agent Gibbs, yet so much more intimate - rich with a history Jimmy doubted Gibbs even knew existed.

The two shared a long look again before Dr. Mallard winked and called out, "You can come in now, Mr. Palmer."

Jimmy's heart shot into his throat, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. He moved fully around the corner and into the room. "I….I'm sorry, Doctor…..I didn't mean to….."

"Spy on us?" Napoleon suggested with a grin.

Dr. Mallard swatted Napoleon's arm with a long-suffering sigh as Jimmy blustered out, "No, no, of course not! I'd never…."

"It's all right, Jimmy," Dr. Mallard said softly, and there he was again – the vocal inflections, the kind eyes vibrant with knowledge, mischief and humor, the hand gestures – it was all 'Ducky'. "Napoleon has a somewhat misguided sense of humor."

"To some, perhaps," Napoleon shrugged easily as he stood up and offered a hand. "Napoleon Solo," he introduced himself. "Dr. Mallard here speaks very highly of you, Mr. Palmer."

Jimmy flushed further. "Does he? I mean, thank you," he returned the handshake.

"Napoleon, stop embarrassing the young man," Dr. Mallard sighed, closing his eyes on the end of the fond, but weakening admonishment.

Jimmy watched as Napoleon cast an almost clinical eye over his friend, finding himself oddly reassured by the silently relaxed diagnosis. "Um, so how do you know Dr. Mallard?" he asked, leaving the 'and how did you know to find him here?' unasked.

Napoleon heard it anyway and Jimmy flinched under the sharp insight. Napoleon's smile was as private and layered as the looks he had been sharing with Dr. Mallard, yet somehow also completely honest. "Dr. Mallard and I share a mutual uncle," he said, glancing back to where the M.E.'s breathing was slowing into sleep.

"Oh, so you _are _family." Jimmy cringed as his internal thought process went external.

"Yeah," Napoleon said quietly, leaning back down to gently touch Dr. Mallard's chest. Eyes still closed, Dr. Mallard murmured something in response, patted Napoleon's hand reassuringly, and drifted back into much-needed rest.

Napoleon gestured Jimmy toward the door. With one foot in the hallway and the other still in the room, he came to an abrupt stop, face deadly serious. "I understand you found him."

Jimmy swallowed around the memory of his mentor, his father-figure, still and cold in the waves. "Yes, sir, I did."

Napoleon captured his eyes, saw the mutual love and respect there, and nodded. "Thank you." _I'm not ready to bury him yet._

Jimmy nodded in return, unable speak. He met Napoleon's eyes squarely, the response clear and unspoken in the short distance between them: _neither am I_.

He got the distinct feeling that he had passed some invisible test, gained a trust that was hard-earned from this enigmatic man and his equally enigmatic relationship with Dr. Mallard. Napoleon's mouth quirked into a half-smile, fondness and relief warring with memory for control. He produced a plain business card - just his initials and an odd phone number - and offered it to Jimmy between two fingers in an almost finicky, yet ingrained, calculated move. "We don't see each other nearly as often as we used to," he mused wistfully before clearing his throat and returning to business. "The next time he gets himself into trouble…"

The next time. Not _if_, but _when_.

Napoleon Solo didn't appear to be the kind of man to lay himself bare. Yet right there, Jimmy watched as all of those innumerable layers were briefly, purposefully dropped…..and saw exactly what he needed to see – honest and raw and true. Because there in Napoleon's eyes was the same mixture of boundless affection, private history, and feral protectiveness that Gibbs displayed for Ducky. The same love and respect that Jimmy bore for his mentor. And, at the heart of it all, a claim to Dr. Mallard that went well beyond any of the NCIS team. It was a bond none of Dr. Mallard's current family could ever rival – one of intimate history, of love and devotion and respect that went beyond family, beyond blood. Which made Napoleon's gesture – that brief glimpse, the show of trust in recruiting Jimmy as an ally in maintaining Dr. Mallard's safety – all the more humbling.

Jimmy took the card and tucked it into his pocket. "I'll call you."

Napoleon nodded, pleased. "Good. I'll be in town for a few days. If you need a break before morning…."

Jimmy's fingers lingered on his pocket, a plan to satisfy both his and Dr. Mallard's needs coming together. "Actually, Dr. Mallard asked me to fly back to Washington to help with the investigation." He fidgeted nervously. "I, uh, haven't gone because I didn't want to leave him here alone, but he's been really insistent….."

Napoleon's private smile and half-chuckle held a wealth of amusement and stories Jimmy would never know. "In that case," Napoleon smiled brightly, "you go on. See that lovely wife of yours and book the next flight to Washington. I'll stay here and make sure he behaves."

Dr. Mallard muttered something - barely audible, possibly not even English.

Napoleon grinned; a man in his element. "Thank you, Mr. Palmer. You go take care of yours. I'll take care of ours," he nodded at the bed.

Jimmy tore a corner off the admission paperwork in his jacket pocket and scribbled down his cell phone number. After an assurance of communication, another set of thanks, and a quick stop at the nurse's station, he was ready to go.

Passing by Dr. Mallard's room again on the way out, he saw that Napoleon had returned to the bedside chair, filling the space as naturally as if he'd never left it, newspaper perched in his lap with the ease of old routine. Unbuttoning his suit jacket, he settled into a relaxed position and brought the paper up to obscure his face.

But not before Jimmy caught the unmistakable flash of a shoulder holster.

Agent Gibbs would be alarmed.

Jimmy, however, continued down the hall with a relieved smile, knowing Dr. Mallard was in the best of hands. Napoleon would be Jimmy's love and presence, Gibbs' protection detail, and the team's devotion all at once, just as he had been all that and more for the decades before NCIS was blessed with the M.E's presence.

Dr. Mallard was alive. He was protected. And Jimmy knew enough about Napoleon Solo to know that anyone who tried to change either of those conditions would have hell to pay.


End file.
